Chapter 3 — The Guest of Honor

There were notes beside my name.

Not medical notes.

Not reminders to bring flowers or pick up dinner.

Dates. Initials. Complaints about someone taking another man’s turn.

I photographed the screen with my own phone.

Then I photographed the schedule again, closer, until every name was legible.

Upstairs, a drawer opened.

I could hear Vincent moving things around.

I had seconds.

I scrolled through the messages.

The men talked about me as if I couldn’t read, couldn’t remember, couldn’t ever stand in front of them and say what they had done.

One message made my thumb stop.

Make sure she drinks it all this time.

Vincent had replied with a laughing emoji.

I took another photograph.

Then Vivian posted.

Back home at last. Vincent booked the whole Crown tonight. Don’t be late. I have a surprise.

An image followed.

I recognized the bedroom before I recognized myself.

I shut my eyes.

For one dangerous second, I wanted to throw his phone through the glass doors.

Instead, I opened my eyes and saved the evidence.

A sound on the stairs made me lock his screen.

I put the phone back exactly where it had been and reached for my water.

Vincent entered carrying a leather folder.

“You’re shaking.”

“The vitamin upset my stomach.”

“Did you eat first?”

“No.”

He took a banana from the bowl and laid it beside me.

“Then eat something.”

His phone buzzed.

He glanced at it and smiled.

That smile told me which message he was reading.

“Vivian’s welcome-home party is tonight,” he said. “At the Crown.”

“I heard.”

“From her?”

“She mentioned it.”

“Wear something nice. Nothing that makes you look uncomfortable.”

“I am uncomfortable.”

“You know what I mean.”

I put down the glass.

“I’m not going.”

He looked up from the phone.

“Why?”

“I don’t feel well.”

“Then rest until tonight.”

“Vincent, I said I’m not going.”

He slid the phone into his pocket.

For a moment, he looked almost curious, as though I had started speaking a language he didn’t recognize.

“She’s been away nearly a year.”

“I know how long she’s been away.”

“You could make an effort.”

“I’m eight months pregnant. I don’t want to spend the night in a club.”

“It’s a private party.”

“That doesn’t change my answer.”

His jaw tightened.

“We’ll talk about this later.”

“No. We’ve talked about it.”

He stepped closer.

I backed against the counter before I could stop myself.

His eyes dropped to the movement.

Then he smiled again.

“You’re exhausted,” he said. “Go lie down.”

After he left, I waited until his car was beyond the gate.

Then I sent everything to Rachel.

She called as the photographs were still uploading.

“I’m taking you out of that house.”

“I’ve packed.”

“Good. I’m on my way.”

“Park by the side entrance.”

“Ten minutes.”

I went upstairs for my bag.

Vivian was standing outside our bedroom.

“Going somewhere?”

“To see Rachel.”

She looked at the overnight bag.

“With that?”

“I’m staying with her.”

“Does Vincent know?”

“I don’t need permission.”

Her gaze moved to my stomach.

“I wouldn’t upset him today.”

“Move.”

She did, but slowly.

I walked past her without looking back.

At the side entrance, a guard stood beside the door.

He was usually at the gate.

Today, he didn’t reach for the handle.

“I need you to open it,” I said.

“Mr. Moretti asked us to keep you inside until he returns.”

I stared at him.

“Keep me inside?”

“He said you weren’t feeling well.”

“I’m feeling well enough to leave.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Moretti.”

“Then step aside.”

He didn’t.

I called Rachel.

She was already outside the property.

“They won’t let me out,” I said.

“Put the guard on.”

“He won’t talk to you.”

“Then I’m calling for help.”

I looked through the glass.

Vivian stood at the far end of the corridor, watching.

“Yes,” I said. “Call.”

The guard’s phone rang before I could say anything else.

He answered, listened, and looked at me.

“Mr. Moretti is coming back.”

I went into the downstairs bathroom and locked the door.

Rachel stayed on the line.

“What did they tell you?” I asked.

“That I can report what’s happening. That someone will follow up. Claire, I’m not moving from this street.”

“I have all the files backed up.”

“I have them too.”

“If he makes me go to the Crown—”

“Tell me as soon as you’re in the car.”

I sent her the club’s address.

Then I photographed the packed bag beside my feet and sent that too.

A ridiculous thing, perhaps.

But I wanted something showing that I had tried to leave.

Vincent returned before anyone arrived to help me.

He knocked once on the bathroom door.

“Open it.”

“I want to go to Rachel’s.”

“Open the door and we’ll talk.”

I didn’t believe him.

I opened it anyway because he had started speaking to someone behind him about the spare key.

He saw the bag immediately.

“Were you planning to disappear?”

“I told you where I was going.”

“You told a guard.”

“Because the guard wouldn’t let me out.”

“You weren’t feeling well. I asked him to keep an eye on you.”

“He said you told him to keep me inside.”

Vincent’s expression hardened.

“You’re making this sound ugly.”

“It is ugly.”

He took the bag from my hand.

I tried to hold on.

His grip tightened around my wrist.

“Enough.”

Vivian appeared behind him.

“Please don’t fight because of me,” she said. “I can cancel tonight.”

“No,” Vincent said.

He didn’t even turn toward her.

Then he looked at me.

“You already drove her away once. You’re not humiliating her again.”

“I didn’t drive her away.”

Vivian lowered her eyes.

Vincent shook his head.

“Don’t start.”

That was the moment I understood how useless the truth was inside this house.

He didn’t want information.

He wanted agreement.

He sent me upstairs to change and took my bag with him.

I kept my phone.

In the bedroom, I texted Rachel.

He’s making me go. Please don’t stop trying.

Her answer arrived before I put on my shoes.

I won’t.

I chose a black dress that stretched over my stomach and a flat pair of shoes.

In the mirror, I looked like a woman going to dinner.

Only the fading marks along my jaw told another story.

Vincent waited at the stairs.

His gaze moved over me.

“There. You look beautiful.”

I didn’t answer.

In the car, I sent Rachel our location beneath the cover of adjusting my dress.

Vincent watched me.

“Who are you texting?”

“Rachel.”

He held out his hand.

I kept the phone against my chest.

“Don’t.”

“Claire.”

“If you take it, she’ll know.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he lowered his hand.

“Tell her you’re with your husband.”

I did.

I told her exactly that.

The Crown’s private entrance opened onto a room I had visited once before, at a charity dinner Vincent hosted.

Tonight, the tables had been moved aside.

Music pulsed through the floor.

Dominic stood at the bar with a glass in his hand.

He saw me and smiled.

“There she is.”

Several men turned.

I recognized too many faces.

One man looked down at my stomach, then away, smirking into his drink.

I stopped inside the doorway.

Vincent’s hand settled against my back.

“Go on.”

“I want to leave.”

“We just got here.”

Vivian came toward us with her arms open.

“Claire. You made it.”

She kissed the air beside my cheek.

Her perfume caught in my throat.

“Let’s get you a drink.”

“Water.”

“Of course.”

She guided me farther into the room.

I stepped out of her reach.

“I can walk.”

A few people laughed.

Vivian’s eyes shone.

“I was only trying to help.”

Vincent reached us.

“What now?”

“Nothing,” Vivian said quickly. “She’s upset with me. I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” I said.

The words came out before I could soften them.

Vivian picked up a champagne flute from a passing tray.

“Then let me apologize properly.”

Vincent took it from her.

“You’re not drinking tonight.”

He turned and offered it to me.

“Take it.”

I stared at him.

“I’m pregnant.”

“One toast.”

“No.”

“Don’t embarrass her.”

“I haven’t embarrassed anyone.”

He brought the glass closer.

“Take the drink, say something civil, and stop this.”

I pushed his hand away.

Champagne spilled over his fingers.

The room quieted.

Vincent looked down at his wet hand.

Then at me.

“Careful, Claire.”

Vivian stepped between us.

“Please. She’s tired.”

She lifted a glass of water from the bar and handed it to me.

“Here. You don’t have to drink champagne.”

I looked at the glass.

At her.

“I want to sit somewhere quiet.”

“Drink some water first,” she said. “Then we’ll get you comfortable.”

My mouth was dry. My heart had been hammering since the guard blocked the door.

I took two swallows.

Vivian watched.

There was something wrong with that.

I lowered the glass.

A strange heaviness moved through my arms.

I set the water down too hard.

“What did you put in it?”

Her expression didn’t change.

Behind her, Dominic left the bar.

I reached for my phone.

My fingers missed the pocket.

“Vincent.”

He stood three feet away.

He could hear me.

He could see what was happening.

“Call an ambulance.”

Dominic caught my elbow.

I tried to pull free, but my knees folded.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Easy,” he said. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

I looked past him at my husband.

“Vincent, please.”

Vivian slipped her hand into his.

My vision narrowed.

I could still see his face.

Still see him looking directly at me.

Dominic pulled me against him, and Vincent finally spoke.

“Be careful with her.”

For half a heartbeat, I thought he meant to help.

Then he nodded toward my stomach.

“The baby’s worth a million dollars.”